


Edquilibrium

by Strewn_Limbs



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dramatic Edward Nygma, Ed and Riddler are causing problems, Electrocution, Gotham City - Freeform, It follows some pathing of the show, Kristen/Isabella/Lee romances did happen, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Oswald's the main bitch now and he knows it, The Narrows, The Riddle Factory returns!, Torture, and now they have to fix it, but they're in the past and dead, murder boyfriends, murder lovers, only referenced for plot, really I just took it and ran though, this one puts on a damn show and knows it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strewn_Limbs/pseuds/Strewn_Limbs
Summary: An equilibrium is to be a balance of opposing forces.A balance that was now wildly out of control thanks to the two sides constant in-house fighting.So when Oswald kicks them out of the manor they must prove they're willing to try to find compromise for him.And they are willing to do whatever it takes to get him back.No matter what the cost.





	1. Reflection

Oswald bounced a pen between his fingers, staring at the papers on his desk in heavy concentration. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Usually this situation was simple to remedy but he was running out of resources, people no longer owed him favors, he was no longer in power. He had to struggle to keep what little he had and what was left was a manor he hadn’t paid anything for in weeks. He didn’t even have a driver anymore, which was the most ridiculous thing. The lowest class of help and even that wasn’t there anymore.

He was reaching the end of his rope and needed to find another to cling to. Something… anything he could take to float a little bit longer. He just needed a week. One week and he could turn things around, he knew it! ...Just a little more time. However, Oswald had been saying ‘one week’ to himself the last four weeks. Nothing yet had turned around for him.

If anything they may have gotten worse.

Oswald’s hands found his hair, head leaned down while he let out a heavy breath, attempting to exhale even a fraction of the stress out of himself.

Oddly, it didn’t work.

A knock at the door had him staring at the papers now too close to his face to read, biting his lower lip as to not shout. He knew who that was and he had no patience if this was what he thought it would be. “Come in.” He called, raising his head and straightening his posture with fingers interlaced on the desk as a perturbed Ed walked into his office, shutting the door behind him.

“Is it true?”

Yes. Fantastic. “Is what true, Ed?” Another one of these.

“Is it true that you conferred with _him_ instead of me on a gang deal on Thursday? And have yet to tell me?” Ed questioned, asking Oswald with an impatient tone, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Probably, Ed. I don’t exactly remember the last few days, so if you could-”

“That’s what he said you two did.”

“Then I suppose we did.”

“And didn’t tell me.”

Oswald’s jaw clenched, as did his hands in each other’s grip. “I don’t need to inform you of every little detail of everything, Ed! If he doesn’t tell you, or if he tells you just to annoy you, that **isn’t my issue**!” Ed’s other side, Riddler, had become a pest lately. Using Oswald to start arguments between them, only to have Ed come to him to complain.

“And when did you plan on telling me?”

“I don’t know, Ed! I haven’t exactly had time to process the last number of days! I haven’t had time! AND YOU’RE **NOT** HELPING!” 

“I could help if you’d told me, instead of _him_ , what was g-”

“ **I’VE HAD IT, ED**!” Oswald stood up quickly from his chair, hip locking awkwardly to keep him upright at the sudden movement. “Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me, GET OUT!” Oswald’s hands hit his desk, throwing the papers he was looking at on the floor in Ed’s direction. “I’m tired and sick of you two using me as your argument excuse! _Awh, well you told Riddler this_. **Why would you tell Ed that**? I DON’T CARE! It’s none of either of your businesses on what I confide in whom! Why would I tell Victor the absolute details of something I had trusted to Butch? Hmmm? Maybe it’s none of his business to know!” Oswald’s neck was tense, strained in his yelling, the muscles in it flexing with each word. 

“Oswald, we-”

“SAVE IT!” Oswald cut him off again, not having it. “You are packing a bag and leaving. I don’t care where you go, but you aren’t staying here.” He sat back in his chair, leaning away in it with hands on the armrests. His hands were gripping the ends of the armrests like claws. “You are not welcome in my house, on my property, or in, on, and about anything of mine. Don’t come back until you’ve sorted your selves out. The smartest men in Gotham causing petty fights between each other like grade school children, coming to me like your mother. I can’t split you two up, so **WHAT CAN I DO**?!” He sneered with his words, one side of his upper lip raised. “Leave, Edward Nygma. Don’t come back. Not unless you’ve finally gotten something through that thick head of yours.”

“But I-”

“LEAVE! **NOW**!” Oswald pointed violently at the door, not about to kill Ed, but did he ever feel the temptation to at least crush his foot for not moving fast enough. 

Ed hesitated but nodded, taking his leave from the office. He made his way to the shared bedroom, getting a bag together as was requested of him. With it packed in minutes, grabbing several things from the bathroom on his way out, he walked off the manor property. The villain making his way towards the city the old fashioned way.

Oswald could hardly stand to see him go, but he had to do it. He had enough stress going on and Ed was only adding to it. Clearly comforting them wasn’t working, talking with them did nothing, compromises were soon broken… the only things left were either Ed and Riddler settled their differences or to part ways from them both completely. As much as it would pain him to do so… it might save his sanity. For what little was left when he was pardoned from Arkham.

 

Edward walked the long way most of the trip to the city, hitchhiking with a tourist for what was left. He sat in the backseat across from the driver, avoiding looking in any mirrors that seemed to stare back too hard even when he glanced away.

There was a light drizzle of rain in Gotham, the overcast as thick as ever. The sky really only seemed to know four different shades of gray and this was the second lightest one. Ed walked with his bag through the Narrows, making camp in an abandoned warehouse where it seemed squatters in the past made a temporary home.

The roof leaked in places, there was something of a draft from broken windows, but it was structurally sound enough. Just until he could get back on his feet. 

_“You really screwed the proverbial pooch this time, Eddie.”_

“Me? He said _us_. Don’t know how much you were really listening, likely not at all considering you never do!” 

A soft scoff came from in front of him, Ed’s eyes locked on a puddle on the floor that didn’t reflect his movements around it like it should. _“I listen constantly, that’s why I always know what to do.”_

“He kicked us both out, until we both come to an agreement. Clearly you were **not** listening. And until we figure out our issues, he won’t let us back in.”

_“I’ll bet he’ll let me in. He can’t keep his hands off of me.”_ Riddler spoke confidently, smoothing over the front of his coat.

“I bet he won’t.”

_“You’re on, Eddie.”_

 

That night Riddler returned to the manor, walking up the front steps and rang the bell twice. It took a few minutes, but Oswald answered with a scowl. “Now, I heard what you told Eddie, bu-”

Riddler was cut off by a wild haymaker from the right, stumbling backwards off the step and onto the walkway though stayed upright. He rubbed at his cheek with a grin, never minding it a little rough, and Oswald never did punch with the weight of a elephant, so it was a pleasant sting.

When Oswald grabbed a shotgun from the interior wall, sitting in an umbrella holder inside the manor Riddler scrambled back a few steps. “Woah, no need to act so hasty. It’s not-”

“What? What is it not, Ed? You should have listened to him. This is not hasty.” Oswald referred to the shotgun in his grip, putting the stock against his shoulder and aiming at the man. “What’s hasty is the rocket launcher I want to retrieve from the den. This is practical.” Oswald pointed the shotgun briefly in the sky, firing once as a warning before it was lowered to Riddler’s chest again. “Now I suggest you go back to whatever hole you crawled out from, before I put a hole through you.” 

It didn’t take the villain long to retreat, half jogging to leave while he could. As much as he knew Oswald wouldn’t kill him, he wouldn’t put it passed the man to maim him beyond repair but still alive.

 

_“Alright… maybe he was a little mad.”_ Riddler admitted with a shake of his head, appearing beside Ed as they both sat together on the floor of the warehouse.

“I told you so.” Ed crossed his arms over his knees, resting his jaw over his forearms. “He looked so thrilled to see you, almost thought you would’ve swept him off his feet at the door.” Ed grinned, making fun of the overly cocky personality he had to keep up with.

_“I wouldn’t sound so high and mighty, Eddie, it doesn’t suit you. Don’t pretend like you’re not the one who got the speech first.”_

Ed stared into his brow in annoyance. “I think this very scenario is an example of why we were exiled?” 

_“...I may be able to see your point.”_

“Then why don’t we solve this logically, something we can both agree on.”

Riddler bobbed his head in agreement, legs crossed in front of him, hands on his thighs. _“So we need to composite a list of characteristics we need to improve and form a solution that reflects what we’ve identified as repairable issues.”_

“As well as analyze why he’s kept us for even this long. No doubt we've been a nuisance for some time if he’s this annoyed.”

_“It’s likely been months and we haven’t noticed. Can you imagine? Us. Not notice something.”_ Riddler scoffed at the idea.

Ed didn’t react the same way, letting out a long breath through his nose. “We miss a lot of details when we get riled up. It’s easy to miss the big picture when we’re at each other’s throat.” He made a point of, it not being the first time they’d been blindsided by even a stupid trick only because they let their pride and frustration grow too fast. Still, they never learned. It only took a few simple things to get under their skin, mostly Riddler’s. 

Ed needed only worry or a paranoid thought to make him too wary, have him looking around each corner, over every detail, to take an item down to its seams and then some to satisfy his mind that nothing was there.

Riddler caused that. 

Riddler made him anxious. Riddler made him worry. Riddler made him fear he didn’t fulfill something as he should have. Riddler made him believe he had to do more when he’d already done enough. Riddler instilled a paranoia in him that he was always being watched, that one slip up could mean the end of his secrecy. His mystery. His freedom. He finally was away from the place where Riddler’s tactics kept him alive, helped him survive. Though into adulthood he still heard them, still had them in the back of his mind.

Riddler made him doubt himself. Riddler talked down to him. Riddler made him feel stupid, inadequate. Riddler was his insecurity personified as a bully, pointing out every flaw each corner of his mind could provide. He would fret. He would pick. He would sort out every hair on his head to be sure it was perfectly in place. And all to keep that voice from nagging on that he wasn’t good enough, that he was a loser. It was no question why he didn’t like his other half. Riddler was everything bad about his personality. Everything that wasn’t working.

Though Riddler could speak similar of Ed. 

Riddler only needed a building frustration or a non-believer to make him miss sight of his own goals, have him miss people forging an escape, have him need to prove someone wrong. To sit down face-to-face with even a prisoner completely under his control and spell it out to them how he was right.

Ed caused that.

Ed made him too prideful. Ed made him frustrated. Ed made him create pressure tests. Ed made him need to take over because he had to fix what it was Ed was trying to do. Ed made him too cautious about details, forcing him to look over the other’s shoulder to be sure he was doing things properly. If Ed miscalculated one thing, it could be over for the both of them either by their capture or their death. And he rather enjoyed being alive. He couldn’t do anything if they were dead. He had to test Ed, put him under pressure to be sure he could handle anything. He couldn’t do anything if Ed didn’t double check what he was doing. And to make sure Ed didn’t get caught up in every doe-eyed doll in Gotham. 

Ed made him feel things. Ed made him doubt himself. Ed made him as crazy about that doe-eyed doll in Gotham as he was, and that was beyond dangerous. He had to save them. He had to protect them. He had to push thoughts of question into Ed’s mind so he would snap and hurt whatever person thought getting into their chest of secrets was a good idea. He would lock up. He would distance himself. He would kill every pretty face in Gotham if it meant that they would stay safe. And all to keep those threatening feelings away, to keep from feeling too much again. To keep his mind safe from the sway of another manipulative partner. It was no question why he didn’t like his other half. Ed was everything bad about his personality. Everything that wasn’t working.

Even with their differences, they found several little things in common along the way. 

One of them was Oswald.

Ed’s head lifted slightly as his mouth opened to talk, head still perched on his arms after the long silence between them, nothing but the leaking roof and nature to provide ambiance. “Remember… when we first met him?” 

_“Of course I do. And along the way you gave him that awful fact about penguins.”_

“I thought it was a good ice breaker.” 

_“The fact you thought that was the way to approach him was laughable.”_

Still, Ed continued, going along with his thought. “Remember when he first accepted our advancements?”

_“It was a miracle he didn’t push us off that roof.”_

Ed began to grin a little, staring off into the distance where three old barrels rusted from the ever leaking roof over the last several years lay down. No doubt used for fires for squatters during the winter months. “Instead, he joined us on that ledge.”

Riddler was quiet for a long moment, not wanting to participate though it was difficult not to. Oswald got under his skin in all the ways he didn’t want. In ways he attempted to avoid at every moment, but Penguin was a persistent guy. And had such large, light eyes… they were captivating. _“Remember when… he surprised us both on your birthday?”_

Ed chuckled softly, enjoying the trip down memory lane. Even in the abysmal conditions, the thoughts made him feel warmer inside. “When he took out the second present, you were stunned.”

_“He treated us as equals. He always did. Separate, joined equals.”_

Where Ed was loved, Riddler was also shown similar love. Where Ed got what he desired, so did Riddler. Where Riddler wanted intimacy, Ed had his own time another day. Where Riddler got a gift, so did Ed. 

One was never left out, or at least not for long. Oswald always seemed to balance them in his own way. Even when Ed or Riddler didn’t appear, even when they didn’t switch quickly… It was like Oswald kept track of everything and made sure they were even. 

“Until recently.”

_“Until we became too much.”_

“Until we got greedy.”

_“Until we ruined his balance.”_

Both versions of Ed were quiet for a moment, Riddler breaking it first.

_“I don’t even mind when he calls me Ed. ...I hate your name so deeply. It repulses me. It combines us into one entity and we are far from that. We can only work together for maybe a month at a time and then it all falls apart terribly. When people call me Ed… it takes away everything that I am.”_ It was an ongoing issue he had with many people. And it was a habit he was sure to stop every time it happened. _“When he calls me Ed… I don’t feel like he’s talking to you as me. He’s not imagining me as who you are. I am just… also someone named Ed.”_

To put that kind of inflection and thought into using one name for two people… To feel special despite getting the same as another… it was something Oswald did well. He made even a completely identical set of objects for different people feel like it was meant specifically for them. Even knowing Ed also got the same thing, Riddler could feel like his was purchased with only him in mind.

Ed nodded, toeing a rock near his shoe, pushing it around in front of himself. “I always wondered why you stopped fighting him on that.”

_“It’s because I didn’t need to prove to him who I was. He knew who I was. He knew I was Riddler. He knew I wasn’t you. He didn’t expect me to act like you do.”_

“He’s always been good to us like that. It only ever took him a moment to identify us. He always knew who he was speaking to. Just a glance. Even when we tried, it was difficult to confuse him.”

_“Wine helped.”_

“Wine was our only chance. Or whiskey.”

Riddler crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against a wall. His head lolled to the side, glancing out one of the broken windows to stare into the sky. He began to chuckle in amusement. _“Remember Oswald and I’s first night? The bruises. The bitemarks. The scratches. The pain and the tenderness from everything… And you woke up next to him the morning after.”_

“I still don’t appreciate that.” Ed commented with a smirk, shaking his head at the thought. “That morning was horrid. The embarrassment…” Ed hadn’t been at the same place in his romance with Oswald as Riddler was. He was still courting Penguin, while his other half explored casual, rather rough, sex.

_“He didn’t seem to mind.”_

“He did what he could to calm me then. Switched the entire mood on its head when he realized it wasn’t you he was next to.” How Oswald comforted him, covered his face and got a robe on at least to ease the obvious feeling that they were both entirely naked in the same bed. He could still hear how Oswald’s feet sounded on the floor, how he limped away. How he made such a guffaw from what Ed later found out to be several toys that seemed to be halfway across the room. “He came back, I stole the blankets. We spent the morning in his bed, we talked, we kissed…” For how he woke, it became perfect because Oswald took care of them.

_“I suppose we could’ve taken better care of him by taking care of us.”_

“He said we could return if we fixed our problems with each other.” Ed spoke to his other half, though it was more for his own comfort rather than a reminder of information. “We may not always agree, we prod each other for our own amusement, but we don’t need to hurt Oswald in doing so. We need to have some terms of truce for him.”

_“I hate to say it, but… we really can’t afford to lose him. Someone who enjoys both of us at the same time… it’s been a rare commodity.”_

“Ms. Kringle only liked me. She was afraid of you, what we could do. Isabella only liked you. She encouraged what we could do to your extremes. Lee… She wanted to make us into one. She wanted my emotion with your desire.” Ed recalled his past loves, all people who wanted something that he couldn’t give them. That Riddler couldn’t provide them.

To become one was possible, they had their short periods of agreement, but they worked better apart. There wasn’t as much struggle for power, it wasn’t a constant push and pull of who was doing the thinking and who was controlling whom. Even when they worked together, it was still a power struggle.

And still… Oswald accepted them both. He treated them as individuals. He called upon whichever he needed, he knew how to draw either of them out without forcing one to be the other. There were certain times he needed one’s specific help, but he never expected Riddler’s skills from Ed. Or vice versa.

He knew they were different.

_“Remember when he thought he needed me. When he came back to the manor in a mess. He grabbed me and shoved me so hard into a windowsill I was sure our back cracked in several places. He did… suuuch unspeakable things with his tongue…”_ The memory alone was intoxicating. _“He didn’t need me though. He wanted me, but he needed you.”_

It wasn’t often Oswald got his own desires wrong, but there were times that Penguin needed to let off steam and there were times he needed to let out emotion. Riddler’s example was a time when Oswald was trying to work through a ball of heavy emotion with distraction. When Riddler had voluntarily retreated to bring him out, which normally he’d be angry when the other dropped him into a heated situation without warning, but it was greatly needed.

And Oswald wouldn’t continue anything without consent. 

Oswald knew Ed wouldn’t want to. Riddler knew that Ed wouldn’t want to. It put the perfect breaks on Oswald’s behavior. Though the crime lord demanded that Riddler return, yelled and shouted in Ed’s face for several minutes until he got so frustrated and tired of holding back the flood of emotions that he burst into tears. 

His fists pounded against Ed’s chest weakly, crying heavily, overburdened with things he couldn’t release in front of others of his circles. He couldn’t seem broken, vulnerable… He held in so much sometimes… It hadn’t taken much for Ed to pin Oswald against his chest in a hug, easily capturing the crying man in his long limbs. He held Oswald for at least half an hour, holding him around the ribs with a hand on the back of his neck. Ed stroking the skin there softly. As much as he wished to pet Oswald’s hair sometimes… the styling didn’t always allow that. 

“You stepped back. You let me have him to help him…”

_“You could do things for him that I could only wish to fulfill.”_

“And I know there are things only you could satisfy for him that I can’t.” Ed, who’s eyes liked focusing on the rusted barrels, shook his head. “We just have to accept that if we fight, it can’t be over him. Or else we lose him.”

_“We have to prioritize our disagreements to other times or… delegate it in a way that we’re asking Oswald’s opinion, not forcing his choosing.”_ Riddler noted, taking his hat off to push a hand over his hair. _“He never chose between us, he chose us both. That’s why we like him. To make him choose between us now and what’s already established is…”_

“Selfish.” Ed finished, noting Riddler’s difficulty with admitting a character flaw. “Agreed.” He lifted his head for the first time in the conversation, unfolding his arms and began to stand. “I say we put on a show then. He will want proof we have solved an issue, that we found some agreement. That we’re willing to continue working on this.” It was not an overnight fix, but they could work on more as they went.

_“Show him we can work together. When needed.”_

“For Oswald.”  
 _“For Oswald.”_

 

Oswald had been nursing a headache overnight, spending most of that early morning in his office with a map of Gotham and a bottle of rum. Which, did help take one pressure off his mind. 

He honestly expected Ed to show up again, to come by at 4am saying that they definitely worked everything out again, that things were solved. Though they would’ve agreed to behave for the time being and would call the issue resolved. 

Oswald went to bed in the early hours of the morning, back facing Ed’s side, not wanting to think about how he cast either of them away. They needed this. He needed this. Either it worked out… or it didn’t.

He had to wait and see.


	2. Crash Course

It was three days since the afternoon he’d told Ed to leave initially. It still haunted Oswald’s head, the thought that he might not come back. He sat in the living space, watching the fire crackle on softly until one of the three remaining maids timidly stepped into the room. “Mr. Cobblepot? I’m sorry to interrupt, but… this came for you. It seems important.” She gave him a small smile, holding out an emerald green envelope for him to see.

“Bring it here, immediately! Hurry up!” Penguin ushered her forward, snatching the envelope from her before shooing her away with a wave of his hand. 

When she departed he took in his own name written in black ink across the golden, foil question mark on the face of the envelope. His heart raced in anticipation, unsure if the news would be good or bad. 

Inside was cardstock in a matching green, metallic gold printing over the card.

_‘Dear Oswald,_

_You are cordially invited to the grand opening of the new, and improved, Riddle Factory._

_12 Adams Street, The Narrows._

_Get ready for a night of riddles, wrong answers, and irredeemably lost lives. Join us as we see who in Gotham has what it takes to beat Edward Nygma, aka The Riddler, at his own game._

_There will be thrills, there will be chills, and if the Wheel of Misfortune lands true, plenty of spills._

_Doors open at 9:30pm._

_Special guests should arrive at 10:00pm._

_We’d be happy to see you there._

_Forever yours,_

_Edward Nygma’_

A Riddle Factory? He heard of the first, it was a gore house based on riddles Ed asked. People got his riddles wrong and he got them to spin a wheel to dictate their punishment. All of them torturous and not always fatal. Immediately.

It seemed like a worthwhile event. 

If the pair had managed to sort something out, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for it to take three days. Ed was up to something and Oswald would find out what it was. At worst, he left.

So he spent the day preparing what he could of what little business he had, getting dressed, primping for whatever it was that Ed had planned. If it was going to be a show with an official invitation, he was going to dress for the occasion. Nothing stood between Penguin and going over the top in his outfit stylings. 

In a slate grey silk suit, his jacket and trousers matching in the expensive fabric, pockets and lapel traced with a black material to make them more catching to the eye. A single button on the jacket keeping it closed over his black vest with slate grey pinstriping. His black dress shirt held securely closed at the neck with a black and white baroque cravat tie. With a matched patterned pocket square in place, white soft leather gloves, his cane, and hair looking like it was styled in a thermal at 600 ft in the air, he was ready. 

As Oswald left the manor he grabbed a knee-length overcoat with a hood that looked like it could fit several small toddlers inside, the wool of the jacket keeping him more than toasty on his way to the event. He had to temporarily hire a driver, but he certainly wasn’t going there under his own driving. He had something of an image to maintain, even if he couldn’t afford to comfortably. He’d find a way to supplement it, it was fine.

 

Oswald arrived shortly before ten, keeping himself prompt and on time. He got out of the car, staring at the warehouse and the line of poorly dressed vagrants out the door and down the street. He had to admit he was curious what a Riddle Factory was like. It was one of Ed’s passions, both of the Eds, really. He tinkered with tools, played with ideas, came up with his riddles, made plans, blueprints, and sketches. Hopefully this was worth it.

“Mr. Penguin!” Oswald’s head snapped down to a young teenager who approached him with a familiarity he didn’t share, backing up a step as the girl who barely seemed thirteen jogged over to him. She looked like a chimney sweep, she was filthy and he’d rather she be nowhere near him. “There you are, Sir! We’ve been waiting for you to get here. Come on, follow me. You’ve got special seats up top to watch the show. VIP, y’know?” She smiled to him with her hands gesturing at the building, her gloves were fingerless though whether they were supposed to be or were by use Oswald couldn’t tell.

“Alright then, child, lead the way.” Oswald allowed, letting her go ahead of him up a fire escape on the side of the building, leading to an upper level of the warehouse that had what seemed to be theater chairs lined up inside. A pair of double cinema-style seats that were sat next to each other, bolted to the floor to keep them in place. “Hm.” It seemed cozy enough… 

“If you need anything, Mr. Penguin, just give us a shout through the microphone there. It’ll let one of us helping the Riddler know you need something. Can I get you a drink or anything? We don’t have anything fancy, but we got some decent whiskey or a white wine we got from the store today.” Got and stole were loosely traded terms at best with the street rats.

“The whiskey will do.” Oswald removed his coat, setting it on the chair to his right, occupying the middle left seat of the four himself. The girl ran out of the room, leaving him to see the set up he was left in. It was a small room, one he could cross in eight steps lengthways. It was under furnished, but likely it still looked better together than it had days ago. It was swept, semi-clean. Someone clearly attempted to wipe down all the surfaces. Whether that was Ed or his urchin patrol, he wasn’t sure. From his seat he could take in the microphone that sat on a small table in front of him, a wire running from the mic, down the table leg and through the floor using a drilled hole as a passage. 

He seemed like he was in box seating, able to overlook most of the warehouse from his position. A space that uncomfortably reminded him of the inside of the cockpit of a blimp, but that was something he tried to push out of his mind. He could see almost all the seating, except those who stood underneath where his room was. It was becoming quite the full event.

How interesting. 

As the time struck 10pm the girl returned with Oswald’s drink, the stout glass holding two ice cubes and filled with the best whiskey anyone in The Narrows could afford to have. It was still cheap, with less smooth drinkability and more burn, but it was something. When asked if she could do anything else, Penguin shooed her away, the lights in the main warehouse dimming to hush the crowd that now occupied every seat available, not a body left standing.

What was a buzzing crowd hushed quickly, all eyes on a false stage set up in front of the chaired section. The stage was the loading dock for the warehouse, built on a higher level so that a truck making a delivery to the building from outside would have its cargo hold be flush with the floor. It provided quite the place to focus on. 

“Ladies, Gentlemen! Boys and girls of all ages!” Oswald knew that voice all too well. “What time is it?!”

The people in the seating seemed to know exactly what to do. _“Riddle time!”_

“I said, what tiiiiiime is it?!”

**“Riddle time!”**

“That’s right. And welcome to… The Riddle Factory!” The words had people shouting in their seats, seemingly ready to participate.

Spotlights from around the warehouse, no doubt used in the day as a security feature not a display method, shone in the middle of the stage, lighting up one place in particular where a very well-dressed Ed strolled into to stand. He had jumped up the stairs quickly after his opening announcement.

Where Ed got his newest suit, Oswald didn’t know. This was a mixture he knew he hadn’t seen before. The emerald silk was a dead giveaway to his usual style, but the pointed lapel was black from the neck down the chest. Green continued around the back and over his shoulders. A black pocket square sat in the single breasted garment’s chest pocket, the jacket closed to keep a streamlined appearance. From Oswald’s place in the box seating he could tell there was some sort of emerald pattern on the black vest Ed wore, but what it was he couldn’t see. The tie matched whatever pattern it might’ve been. Something interesting he could barely notice was a wingtip collared black dress shirt. Normally Ed wore a point forward, but it seemed the man was borrowing from his style closet. Ed’s black silken trousers seemed to glow a faint emerald when they caught the light, with a low heeled black boot on and his bowler hat he seemed fit to command a show.

From below Ed still commanded the room, a small mic on his jacket in order to be sure the entire warehouse could hear him. “I’ve heard that The Narrows has had a second-wind of prosperous settlement, but how would you people like the chance to triple, no… quintuple, that income tonight?” He questioned the room who cheered loudly. “Wonderful.”

Oswald could just see a briefcase set to the side, it’s own light moving to shine on it as a woman dressed similarly to Ed, if there was a _sexy Halloween_ version, opened it and held it in her hands to show the audience as she paced the front of the stage. Her emerald attire didn’t seem to shine as much as Ed’s in the light, but Oswald could imagine why. He had to be the brightest in the room, he couldn’t entirely share the stage. He knew this was his Riddler personality showing through, the one who _needed_ so much attention on himself.

“Only one of you tonight may win the grand prize of $250,000.” He hardly had a chance to finish his sentence as the room erupted into cheering and screaming, the crowd eager to see where this would go. “And only one of you may win. We will play in rounds, those who succeed their rounds will win a $10,000 round prize and will be guaranteed a chance to play for a quarter of a million dollars. Now how does that sound to you lovely hooligans?” He laughed as the room nearly shook with the noise created, screaming, stomping, people jumping out of their seats. “That’s the spirit.

“What would a game be without rules?” Ed questioned the room, speaking over the dying cheering to command attention again. “I ask you one riddle, you get it right and you get to ask me one in return. If I fail to answer, you win your round. However, if you fail to answer me first, you get to spin the…” He paused for dramatic effect, hands pointing in the direction of a large wheel that gained its own spotlight at the movement. “Wheel of Misfortune!”

Oswald took in what looked to be a repainted carnival wheel, the colors looking new despite the no doubt old wood it was on. He took a sip of his whiskey, relaxing in his chair. This was Ed in his element, this was Riddler to a T. This was something that made him extremely happy, and it seemed as though quite a number of people from the Narrows had missed it as well despite knowing the outcomes of the game.

He would need to ask how Ed got his hands on such a pile of money in only a few days. He certainly didn’t have that on him when he left. Penguin took a sip of his whiskey, ready to see the show play out and just what he’d missed when the other was becoming the King of the Narrows.

Ed stared into the crowd, hands folded behind his back neatly. “Our first contestant tonight, representing Lords of the Avenues, is our man, Snakebite!” He introduced a man who stepped up to a podium that received a light as well. The man with a tall red mohawk, a black tank top and green camo pants was a fashion disaster to say the least in Oswald’s mind, but it wasn’t his gang. They could do whatever their poorly dressed souls wished. “Now, Snakebite, how’d you hear about us and our fine establishment tonight?” Ed asked, leaning against the podium with his arm, looking to Snakebite across his shoulder as he took off his hat to seem more personable.

“I heard ‘cuz the Demonz were gonna be here, an’ we’re gonna beat ‘em!” Snakebite shouted from his place, arms raising in the air as his crew cheered him on from their place in the crowd. 

“A noble cause.” Ed had on a charming smile, attention back on the audience before him. “Are you ready to play, Mr. Bite?”

“So ready, Riddler!”

“Excellent to hear!” Ed’s eyes went to his assistant, gesturing his hand to the large hourglass that took up the center of the stage. “Daliah, if you would be ready.” He got a nod in return. “Snakebite, let’s begin.” 

Lights directed mostly to Ed again, the man posing his hat in front of his face, head dipped as the scene was set for the first riddle. The hat took place on his head, face revealed to the crowd when he was ready to present his verbal trickery. “I’m pronounced as one letter, and written with three. Two letters there are, and two only in me. I’m double, I’m single, I’m everywhere that you see. What am I?”

Daliah on cue turned the hourglass upside down, starting the timer as everyone’s attention went to Snakebite, the man thinking about the words he’d been presented with. “Uhh… Uhmm… Double or single… Uhhh… Two letters but there’s three…” Snakebite thought it over quickly, feeling the pressure from the crowd and from the time running down. “I… I uhh…” 

“Halfway through your time, Mr. Bite. I’d suggest you make your choice wisely!” Riddler commented with a grin, checking the watch under his suit jacket sleeve more for dramatic effect than a need of the time.

“Uhm… I… Oh! A Bee! It’s a bee!” He called excitedly, getting a reactionary clapping from the crowd with several cheers. 

Riddler stared at Snakebite for a long moment, facing the crowd with his arms extended straight out on either side, ready to perform his coliseum judgement call. Extended for three long moments, Riddler’s hands twisted to give a thumbs down, a buzzer going off in the warehouse somewhere. “Nooooo, I’m sorry, Snakebite. That is incorrect. The answer we were looking for was… Eye. I don’t know how many bees you see here tonight, but perhaps your punishment can help sort them out. Mr. Bite, please, take a spin of… The Wheel of Misfortune!” The crowd chanted along with Riddler, Snakebite needing to follow the rules given.

The gang member took a slow pace over to the wheel, staring up at it for a moment. He collected his nerves in a breath, grabbing the wheel and spinning the game show-like object well. The wheel made several rotations of itself, Riddler curiously waiting to see what would be selected.

The pin at the top finally bounced back on one of the wheel pegs, retreating back into a selection it seemed like it may pass. “Oooh, and would you look at that. A classic. The Freezer.” Riddler grinned, hand pointing out the selection to the audience. “I can tell you from personal experience, this may not go well for you. Good luck!” Two large men walked onto the stage, grabbing Snakebite by either arm to drag him away to a large chest freezer plugged into a wall just barely in sight of the crowd. Snakebite yelled as he was stuffed in, one of the men padlocking the freezer closed. 

Though the crowd muffled it, one could hear Snakebite pounding on the inside of the fridge, looking to get out.

Riddler tsked with a smile, facing the crowd again. “What a good sport. Now, who’s ready for contestant number two?!” Despite the man obviously freezing to death slowly out of their sight, the crowd was more than willing to continue, the entire process held Oswald’s attention, his intrigue peaked as he worked on the drink he was given.

Riddler ate through contestant after contestant, allowing three of them riddles even a small child could solve. There had to be some that made it to the finale, after all. He played stupid to their riddles, it crushing him internally, but he had to play Ed for only a minute. Just long enough to let them move on. That was it.

Their smug cheering had him forcing a smile, clapping to their victory as he played along. That alone had Oswald’s interest, his empty glass soon abandoned by the mic in front of him on the table. Ed was doing what he could to adapt to the situation. It was an impressive step on its own. 

 

“Fellas. It’s good to see you up here at the end.” Riddler tapped the podium the three men stood behind, shaking his head. “So sad the others couldn’t be here to see you take it all, but as they would’ve wanted we are continuing on to the final round! Daliah.” He directed his assistant who moved the Wheel of Misfortune out of the way and off the stage, hitting a switch where four wooden chairs a foot apart from each other covered in wires rose on a loading platform from beneath the ground. “Gentlemen, welcome to The Lightning Round!” Riddler announced with a flourish of his hands.

Daliah moved from her position at the switch to run her hand over the top of the chairs, a metal cap on wires sitting on the stool of each chair. She smiled widely, putting on a show for the people in the audience who _‘ooh’_ d and _‘ahhh’_ d at the display. 

Oswald stood from his seat, looking at the number and knowing Ed was about to do something stupid. What was he thinking…? His heart raced a little faster, knowing already this wasn’t going to go well by the sense of dread that filled his chest.

“Are you gentleman ready?” Ed asked the men behind the podium who seemed hesitant but agreed. They were one step away from leaving the Narrows, or ruling half of it, they couldn’t turn back now. “Excellent. I’m ready. Daliah, are you ready?” The woman nodded with a small bow, taking her place at the end of the chairs. “Wonderful. And you, our ruthless audience, are you ready?” He questioned the people last, getting an uproar of a cheer. “Then, gentlemen, let us strap in.” 

Oswald remained standing, mouth agape as the female assistant strapped each of the men in a chair, Ed having removed his jacket, as well as his hat, and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his watch gone and allowed Daliah to put the metal cap on him first, buckling it beneath his jaw. His wrists were strapped down to the armrests, and his ankles at the legs of the chair, a thick leather strap around his torso. 

The other three in the lightning round were invited into their chairs, strapped down and constrained into the home-made electric chairs. 

Ed continued speaking when Daliah let him know with a thumbs up that everyone was ready to go, she placed a standing mic in front of his chair. He had to raise his voice, but it was nothing too strenuous. “In The Lightning Round, as you may be able to see, we are on chairs of my own design. You can try to find them at your local furniture store, but I assure you, no one makes them like I do.” He joked with a long smirk, head able to move enough to address the men down the line with him but unable to move much beyond that. “These chairs are made to deliver a shock that will increase the more you get wrong. Get them right and you move on with no additional current. Last one alive, wins the money. Bulldog, Rusty, Mike. It’s been an honor playing with you boys so far, may the best man win.

“I need a second assistant though. We have a second switch that helps control these death traps. Now who do we pick…?” Riddler’s eyes went over the crowd, seeing many hands go up in order to be chosen. “You know, we have a special guest in our audience, having been overseeing the entire affair and events tonight. Oswald Cobblepot, the one and only Penguin, The Riddle Factory’s guest of honor! If you could join us on the main stage, we could use your assistance.” 

Oswald had yet to sit down since he stood, and now many eyes were on him where he was in his boxed seating. He composed himself, moving out a door he hadn’t walked in through, going down the steps inside the warehouse with cane in hand. The crowd applauded his arrival to the situation, still clapping even as he stood himself on the end of the stage opposite of Daliah. 

“What a team player.” Riddler stated casually, nodding his head upward to get Oswald to come closer. “Behind each of us there is a wire needed to finish the circuit, if you could plug those wires in and head to your electrical _box_ back at the end of the stage you arrived on, we can begin!” He called, letting Oswald go down the line of them, finding the wires to join them, arming the chairs to their complete state.

When behind Ed, Oswald made it seem as though his wire was harder to find, whispering harshly behind the man he knew. “You are insane.”

“Actually, I have a certificate proving I’m not. Just remember, every _box_ opens.”

“What?” Oswald finished joining Ed’s wires, moving down the line to set up the other two men when Riddler called him back down. 

“Can you get my glasses for me? It’d be a shame if they burned into my face. They’d have to have a closed _box_ for me instead of an open coffin.” There was enough metal in them for him to get a nasty burn on several parts of his face once the current heated them. Oswald stood in front of the chairs, walking back to Ed in order to remove the spectacles, folding them closed and hanging them off the front of his vest. “Thank you. Now, Daliah, we need our foam bite guards. Don’t lose these, fellas, if you win you might want to still have your teeth and tongue intact.” 

Oswald couldn’t stop staring at Ed, clearly he was getting at something. He wasn’t one to drop hints unless necessary, so something was going to happen. Something that needed his attention.

Each man got a bite guard and Oswald was instructed on when he’d need to pull one of his two switches. One smaller lever and one larger one. He and Daliah were to stand on industrial rubber matting, just in case anything was to happen. They touched nothing but the levers and the mat, in case of poor wiring in the old building.

“Daliah, begin!” Riddler instructed around his bite guard, finding this to be an exhilarating experience.

Riddler’s assistant smiled widely as she asked the line of men their first round question. “Here is your first riddle. I am not alive, but I grow. I don’t have lungs, but I need air. I don’t have a mouth, but I’ll suffocate if you cover me. What am I?” Daliah turned over a smaller version of Riddler’s hourglass, the minute glass keeping their time short while she held it. Rusty froze, locking up under the pressure of the crowd. Bulldog was heavy in thought while Mike was struggling against the chair restraints, regretting a couple of his life choices now. “Don’t let your time run out boys.” She mentioned, tapping on the glass in her hand.

“Uhh… A… uhh… A Tree!”  
“A… a Fire!”  
“I… I don’t know…!”  
“...”

The sand ran close to running out, Bulldog and Mike answering what they could. Rusty too nervous to find the words, and Riddler remaining silent. 

“Time’s up boys.” Daliah mentioned, going over to her electrical panel. “And the answer was…”

“It was fire.” Riddler grinned, knowing he hadn’t filled the criteria of the riddle to get it technically correct. “Good job, Bulldog.” He praised, the three men other than Bulldog getting 5 milliAmps through the chair one at a time, all the men flinching at the shock, limbs attempting to retract by natural reaction. Daliah keeping the switches held for only a couple seconds, making sure to keep the punishment the same among all wrong players.

“Gentlemen, level number two. I am light as a feather, yet no man can hold it for long. What am I?”

“Oh, I know this one!” Rusty claimed with a smile. “It’s breath!”  
“Yeah, breath.”  
“Breath, sure!”  
“...”

Daliah tsked lightly, nodding to Oswald who pulled the first switch, holding it for two seconds and shocking all the men at once. “Rusty, don’t spoil the game for everyone. If you know, just answer. Don’t say you know it, or everyone copies off your paper. Then the whole class must be punished.” The audience loved the show though, yelling in encouragement at the controlled electrocution. 

Three of the men in the chair withstood their 15 milliAmp shock, their hands gripping either into a fist or onto the chairs they sat on, muscles beginning to lock on them with the driven current. Riddler grinned around his guard once the shock was over, clearly having a good time and knowing something no one else did. Bulldog, who knew the last answer only got his 5 milliAmps for being right last round.

_“Ed… what are you doing…?”_ Oswald whispered to himself, not particularly fond of not knowing the plan.

“We’re _amping_ it up from here, boys.” Daliah laughed at her own joke, looking to the line of chairs with a smile. “Level number three. I was carried into a dark room, and set on fire. I wept, and then my head was removed. What am I?” Daliah turned the minute glass over in her hand again, waiting for any of the possible answers to come through.

Riddler’s head picked up, eyes on his assistant. “A log.” He answered wrong on purpose, knowing what would happen if he answered quickly.  
“Yeah, a log.”  
“Uhh… maybe like… wood?”  
“Uhmm… I… a cake? No! No, a candle!”

Daliah’s brows perked up, nodding slightly. “Mike, that was well done! Boys, we figured you might just wait for our Riddle master, and this was the test. And only Mike passed. The answer was candle!” She drew down the first lever, hitting Rusty with 60 milliAmps of electricity. The man grunted in pain, withstanding the shock he received with sweat beginning to drip down his brow. Riddler was hit second, the shock cutting off his air supply for the two seconds the switch was down, the bared muscles in his forearms contracted strongly with his hands clutching to the chair arms enough to turn his knuckles white. Both men panted around their guard, hearts beating wildly in their chests with the body torture. Bulldog took his 15 milliAmps, setting them into round four.

“We’re getting to the final level, one more after this.” Daliah let them know, making sure her timer sand was completely on one side before continuing. “Level number four. Give me an X, I’ll stand to face you. Give me a cross, I’ll turn my back on you. What am I?” The timer was set again, the sand running as Riddler relaxed in his chair for the moment he’d have it, calming himself internally and using the break during the riddles to reset himself as much as he could.

As the time ran out, no one answered correctly, not having a guess in the lineup. 

“Boss?” Daliah questioned, smiling to him. “The answer?”

“The number 9.” Riddler grinned, glancing over to Oswald as he waited for the next pull.

“You clearly know how to answer these, why aren’t you?” Oswald questioned his once accomplice, glaring at him from his place on the mat. 

Riddler shrugged a shoulder slightly. “Just building up to the dramatic ending.” He chuckled, watching as Oswald threw his first switch again. Riddler and Rusty took 200 milliAmps for short of two seconds, both men shouting behind their guards, jaws clamped on the foam between their teeth. Their hearts jumped erratically, lungs locking again as their systems were thrown off by the increased current, muscles clenching so tightly like a workout injury after something went wrong. Bulldog and Mike had their taste of 60 milliAmps, wiggling in their chairs with the electricity through their bodies. 

Rusty’s head fell over, the man not picking it back up even after Riddler recovered though his body was clearly laboring to put him back in balance. Sweat dripped down his face, rolling down his temple at the sheer effort his body went through in order to be electrocuted. His chest heaved, his heart doing what it could to drop back down, but even then it felt off. His breathing heaving his chest.

Daliah went to check Rusty, going for the pulse in his neck. “Oooh, we’ve hit fibrillation, I think.” She laughed, going back to the crowd. “If we don’t finish this soon, Rusty could be a goner!” She announced cheerfully, the audience in an uproar of entertainment at the occurrence. “Level number five, boys. Last chance to win!”

Oswald watched Ed with pleading eyes, knowing no one was keeping their eyes on him. He could afford to act out visually. He just had to actually answer what were no doubt his own, stupid riddles and he would walk out of this alive. In one piece. And without frying that big, fat, stupid head of his. 

“Last riddle, whoever survives their shocking gets this cash! Everyone is now at the highest level of electric punishment. Get it right, don’t get shocked. Now, I can flutter and take your breath away. I can take a beating, but do not bruise. The right person can make me stop. Lose them, I break despite use. What am I?” The minute glass flipped one final time.

Riddler let his head fall back as far as the chair would let him, smiling at his own genius, reacting to the riddle unlike the others. It let Oswald take in his stretching, chest damped with sweat being pushed out to the crowd as best he could move with his restraints. “Not to put you guys in a _box_ here, but you aren’t going to understand this one.” He teased them, reusing the word Oswald noticed was developing a pattern.

Box. Box. What box? There were several boxes around. 

The sand was halfway through, the two men still alive with Riddler beginning to panic while the, technically, two who organized it all were entirely calm.

_“He’s not going to forgive us for this.”_ Ed informed his other half, the more emotional side of Edward Nygma giving a sigh as he glanced over to Oswald.

“He’ll get over it.” Riddler whispered, knowing the mic still in front of him wouldn’t catch it under his struggled breath.

_“Maybe one day, but he’ll never forget it.”_

“No. That he likely won’t.”

Oswald could see Ed muttering to himself, knowing both of them were there, talking to each other. What was this? What was their plan?

“Mr. Penguin! Pull the big switch!” Daliah commanded from her side of the stage, the timer in her hand had run out and none of the men had answered correctly, or at all. Depending on who you looked at. 

Oswald hesitated, connecting eyes with Riddler who merely grinned in return. “ _Heart_. It’s heart.” Penguin couldn’t accept this, stepping away from his lever to go to Riddler’s side in a huff. 

“What is the point of all this?! Why are you doing something so st-”

He was cut off when Daliah pulled her switch, putting the three remaining men into their final stage of electrocution. Oswald stepped back seeing Riddler convulse quickly in his seat, the muscles in his body constricting so tightly he would’ve felt like stone if one could touch him. His reaction was more violent than the other two, his chair sizzling and popping. His chair quickly hit a point of short-circuiting, shutting off after a second and a half, letting his body drop as forward as the straps would allow while the two men and the body in the line with him still began to cook under the current. 

Penguin’s eyes looked to Daliah, the woman gurgling out an uncomfortable noise, unable to let go of the switch she had her hand on. The room was a mess of noise after a couple seconds, not in cheers at the corpses, but everyone in the audience seating was contracted in place. Muscles convulsing in them, until something cut the power off, dropping a room of people to the floor. Within five to seven seconds, everyone but Oswald had to have been dead. 

Penguin’s eyes welled with tears, caring not for the people around him, but for the one man in the chair. He hobbled quickly to Ed’s side, undoing the restraints, taking the cap away as quickly as he could pry it off. The smaller man’s hand quivered as he touched it to Ed’s face, noting the pristine skin despite where the cap touched. Which was odd… even he had burn scars left from his own electrocution therapy under Strange’s _‘care’_. 

“Ed… Ed please, say this is a trick. Make this another dumb plan you’ve made… Please… you’ve fooled me…! You got me well this time…!” Oswald smiled through the tears, doing what he could to convince himself that it wasn’t real. “Ed… please. You won. You are… so, so smart. You tricked me.” He claimed to the body still slumped in the chair, picking up Ed’s hands in his own to give them kisses over the backs. “I shouldn’t have told you to leave… Both of you. I’m sorry I didn’t let you back… I… I shouldn’t have taken this out on you…” Tears ran freely down his face, sniffling back the mucus that threatened to drip from his nose.

“You were everything to me… You were loyal… You stayed by my side… I… I loved you… Ed! Both of you… I can’t… I have nothing now Ed…” He admitted to the body, bringing the hands against his face as though Ed could hold his jaw himself. “I’ve lost it all… The properties… My power… No one owes me anything anymore… All I had was you and… And I even managed to get rid of that…!” He cried openly in the room of corpses, spitting slightly in his lack of control. His nose went red, as did his eyes. Oswald sunk to his knees in front of Ed, resting his forehead on the man’s knees. 

“Please… please, old friend… Lover… Ed… Riddler… Please.” Oswald begged the body, hands gripping Ed’s legs tightly. “Please… return to me.” He cried into Ed’s knees, squeezing the calves under his grip when something didn’t feel right.

Oswald wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to see as clearly as he could as he turned Ed’s pant legs around, noting the burning in the back of the fabric and into his skin. This was why he had no burns around his head… he shocked other points of his body.

Penguin stood as quickly as he could, knee buckling at the sudden shifting, sending him into one of the corpses still strapped in the chair next to Ed. Bulldog was there, or the corpse formally known as Bulldog, Oswald shoving the cap off the ex-contestant’s head to see the fresh burn markings on the man’s skin. He did that on purpose… 

Box… Box… What box?!

Oswald’s newfound adrenaline pushed him upwards, finding his footing to put him into his own version of a run. His bad leg more shoving off of the ground at an angle, propelling him forward in short bursts rather than a consistent stride. Things he said that stood out. Box… heart… Every box can be opened… 

Penguin searched the stage frantically, eyes locking on the electrical box he’d been in charge of from the beginning of his assistance. He dug his fingers all around the sides, but there was no latch, no way in, and no keyhole in order to get in either. The man screamed in frustration, hitting the switches on his box. Not that it mattered with the power off anyhow, it wouldn’t do any _more_ damage.

As the switches hit the bottom, the front of the electrical box popped open, swinging forward a few centimeters and getting Oswald’s attention. “Yes!” His cheer was immediate, throwing the box open and grabbing the plastic covered equipment inside. The front reading AED. 

Okay. Now what…?

Oswald opened it in his arms, reading the instruction sheets on the inside of the medical device’s container. It all seemed rather confusing, but there were pictures of hearts, and lightning bolts and the picture of a shirtless silhouette with patches on… him… This! This is what Ed wanted!

Oswald limp ran it back to Ed, pulling the man quickly to the floor, knocking the back of his head off the end of the chair, but he was in something of a rush! The unconscious man would need to forgive him. Penguin followed the pictures inside the cover of the AED. He turned the device on, undoing Ed’s tie to toss aside, the shirt and vest torn open in a desperate move to save time. First step, dry skin. He had to be dry. Oswald panicked for a moment before he removed his suit jacket, knowing the dry cleaning would be well worth saving Ed’s life. Patting his chest dry, glad Ed was a man with rather thin body hair in most areas because apparently shaving could be a thing where it was too thick. 

No need. Next step.

Attach pads as displayed by the pictures provided. He could do that. 

The pads themselves even had pictures on them. The left pad went a little to his left of the center of Ed’s chest, right pad went under Ed’s left pectoral, a little to the right against his ribs under his arm. Perfect, just as the pictures told him to! He waited as the machine next to him made tones, a robotic voice coming to him in reply. 

_‘Stand clear.’_ It waited a moment as it read the body it was attached to. _‘No heartbeat detected. Shock recommended. Stand clear. Shock administering in 5… 4… 3…”_

Oswald hopped back from Ed, standing clear as the machine took charge of what to do. Whatever this magical, electronic box was, it was wonderful. As was the programmed robot in it that was helping. 

The countdown on the machine ended, the box again asking for everyone to stand clear before a button reading _‘shock’_ lit up, encouraging Oswald to press it, providing an electrical jolt to Ed’s system when the button was pushed.

_‘Begin CPR.’_

“What? How do you do that?” Oswald stared wide-eyed at the machine so willing to betray him, not knowing anything about first-aid or life saving. He took lives, he didn’t need to save them! “What do I do?!” He yelled at the AED as though it would listen, going into the pictures on the cover of the machine again. With enough looking he found the pictures for it, copying what he saw. It aggravated his knee horribly being crouched in front of Ed, pushing down with his arms, repeatedly shocking his joint with pressure against the hard floor of the loading level of the warehouse. Still, he continued on. 

Oswald kept doing the compressions, glad for the moments where he had to do the breath things on Ed. To plug his nose was odd, but whatever it said, he’d follow. He got to another shock stage, crawling back when the machine told him to clear, cringing at the pain in his leg, pushing the button when shown to. 

He was instructed to begin compressions again, Penguin beginning to tear up not only from Ed’s lack of response, but from the absolute pain driving through not only his leg but up into his hip. It hurt… it hurt so much… It wouldn’t hurt nearly as bad as the hurt from losing Ed, so he would continue. He had to. He had no choice… he needed them. 

Ed’s body convulsed when his heart found a rhythm again, pumping everything in his body at a faster pace than it was used to, the man’s eyes fluttered open quickly to observe the room. 

“Ed…? Edward! You’re alive!” Oswald smiled from ear to ear, his hands clutching at the open dress shirt as the man came back from the dead. “Edward… what were-” 

Ed’s eyes crossed for a moment, going half-lidded, chest heaving as he rolled onto his side facing Oswald, vomiting on the floor between them. 

“That’s… unpleasant.” Oswald pushed himself back a bit, looking to avoid any contact. Ed’s sweat on his jacket, sure. If he could avoid vomit soaked into his pants, he would. Penguin attempted to get himself up to move around Ed, instead falling backward when his leg refused to give him the strength to get up. Damn it… Oswald instead dragged himself around Ed, using his better leg against the floor with his hands guiding himself along.

Oswald sat between the electric chairs and Ed’s back, supporting the other with his good hip as Ed threw up on the floor again. The puddle of bile and that evening’s dinner mixed together openly, slowly running away from the pair with the natural slope of the floor. Being laid down and compressed so many times upset Ed’s body entirely, the sphincter at the bottom of his esophagus too relaxed from his temporary state of death. The compressions pushed what was in his stomach beyond the relaxed muscles, forcing his body to expel it when he regained life. 

Ed shivered at the effort, his body drained from the strain of the electrocutions, his muscles quivering at the energy it took just to get sick. 

“This was… by far, the most idiotic thing you’ve ever done. Do you hear me, Edward Nygma?” Oswald demanded, yelling at the man at the same time he used a hand to rub over Ed’s damp shoulders, feeling further burnt areas of fabric on his back. “If you ever do something like try to kill yourself again, I will remember this training and bring you back to kill you myself!” He claimed in his relief and worry. Though, thinking on it, it would be very handy to get more of those little robot voice boxes around in case of emergency.

Ed’s grin was weak, eyes closing with his exhaustion. “Y… Y-you… did… it.” It was no statement of shock or disbelief, the man knew Oswald would figure out the hints to save him. Though really, they were less hints and more of a map, still… they were solved. “I’ll… admit… little… dumb…”

Oswald couldn’t help but laugh softly, finding tears coming to his eyes again and threatening to roll over the edge almost immediately. “Yes, it was incredibly dumb. You… big, stupid idiot. I hate you. I hate you so much.” He told Ed, lowering himself nearly to the floor to take Edward’s head in his hands, leaning his forehead against the man’s dampened brow below him. “Never, and I mean **never** , do anything so stupid again.”

“I… told him… you could do… it. He was… scared… scared to… get hurt again. Lose his brain… Told him… you’d know. You’d solve it… Trusted me… trusted I’d know…” Ed attempted to explain his brilliant plan, but he was in no condition to be bragging as he’d love to. 

“Shhh. Be quiet. You can be smug about how moronically smart you are later… For now we need to leave. We’re sitting in a room of dead bodies, Ed.” 

“And… a room… room with… two… two hundred… ninety-three thousand dollars…” Ed smirked, looking from his peripheral at the blurry Oswald above him, not sure if it was his state of coming back from the dead or his lack of glasses, but his vision wasn’t right. 

Penguin paused, having forgotten about the money that was still sitting in its case several feet behind them, Oswald developing a happy glow about his face. “Ed… you sneaky devils, the two of you. I won’t even consider kissing you, but know the implication is there if not for your no doubt horrible bile breath. You’ll have it later.”

“...Deal. Just say… I’m a genius.” 

“No. You’re an idiot and will remain as such until you’re better.” Oswald shook his head, denying the request, seeing Ed attempt to chuckle but was followed by a cringe and a rather foul smelling belch that came from the contents of his stomach still trying to find a way up. “You’re a repugnant idiot. Let’s see if I can’t get us a way out of here now.” 

With their newly claimed riches, Penguin got them a driver out of the Narrows, oddly finding it easy to get help when he had the money behind him. He had the driver get his overcoat from upstairs, taking what was left of the whiskey bottle with him because if there was ever a point he needed a drink, now was it. His cane was found where he hadn’t noticed he’d dropped it when Ed was being sacrificed for his plan. Ed’s jacket, hat, the old bag he took with him, and his watch were collected. Oswald kept the briefcase on himself, not about to let it out of his sight now. He sat in the back of the car the driver had with Ed leaning against his side, eyes closed, head resting awkwardly on the smaller man’s shoulder. It put a knot in his neck but at the moment he really couldn’t care. 

They returned to the manor and got settled with some difficulty, both getting comfortable with help from Oswald’s most loyal staff member Olga. She was there for him, and he couldn’t thank her enough. She was like an aunt to him. He got painkillers and ice for his knee, putting up his leg in the living room with Ed propped beside him, shirt still torn open but his vest had been abandoned under Olga’s care, his glasses having been returned to him since the car ride. Oswald was left in his vest that hung open, cravat hanging around his neck and three buttons of his collar undone. 

“What was your plan in all this, Edward?” Oswald finally asked, looking over to the man with his head leaned back over the top of the couch, eyes closed like he was sleeping. “Why was all this the decision you came to?”

“It was one way for us to work together.”

“To work together in… killing yourselves?” 

Ed wanted to shake his head, but had some fear he’d be sick again. Even the car ride back had been a struggle and they had needed to make several stops for him to heave at the side of the road… “No. Riddler loves himself and our body too much to let that happen even if I wanted to. I threatened him with that months ago, I was ready to do it, but he struck a deal with me.” He stated nonchalantly, far beyond that point by then. “Creating the new Riddle Factory was a way for us to work together. It’s his tortures with my mechanisms. It’s his theatrics with my planning. It’s his riddles with my staging. A Riddle Factory is both of us at our best, working together to accomplish something.

“You wanted us to agree and to find common ground, making a new Riddle Factory to impress you was the best way for us to work together. Other than what we do, what we come up with mentally, our most frequent commonality is you. You bring us together, and you give us reason to be equal.” Ed answered easily, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling, but found that to be a mistake and closed his eyes again when the room began to spin. 

“That was… all for me?”

“From the working together, to the planning, to the mass murder, to stealing everyone’s money at the end. All for you.”

Oswald’s head turned to observe Ed, eyeing him curiously. “I’d been meaning to address that. Where did you get that money, Edward?”

“I stole it. The Narrows came into some wealth recently. It was child’s play to rob a couple liquor stores and take out a few shady dealers, because like I knew, those people are just going to use it on booze and other self-indulgent things.” He let out a heavy huff, but all that was behind him then. He could move on. “Anyway, once I collected enough money I had incentive to bring people in. Now with the riches of the Narrows, and these people love gambling, it was easy to convince them to put in another $150 each in order for a chance at the grand prize payout at the end. If anything, they still paid to watch people die, which is also fine to them.” 

“And you played their desires like a fiddle.”

“A poorly, poorly tuned fiddle.” Ed lifted his head carefully, not liking how the room seemed to turn heavily to one side, feeling a bit sick again. After a moment two hands took his head carefully on either side, turning him gently to lay on the couch face up. Long legs couldn’t stay on and hung over the arm of the couch, head cushioned by Oswald’s lap and the raised leg as nimble fingers pet through Ed’s tousled slicked back undercut. “We decided that to best get away with the money, killing everyone was the way to go. And he had to trust me that you would understand the clues and revive us.” 

“But why you? You could have not participated in the chairs at all.”

“Part of the grand finale is we had to be put in a situation that threatened us. Riddler would be scarred if anything were to happen to our brain again, the last thing he wants. Without our brain, he’s useless. I believed you would figure out the hints, he didn’t want to take the risk. If we had laid unconscious for more than eight minutes we could’ve suffered irreparable damage to our brain. He had to have trust that I planned this perfectly that we wouldn’t take unnecessary damage. He listened to me, Oswald. He put one of his most precious possessions at risk to help fulfill this requirement. And I had to trust that he wouldn’t try anything, not to take over. I had to trust he’d let me lead.”

Oswald shook his head, neatly putting Ed’s hair back in place to occupy himself. “And you two couldn’t… I don’t know, put on a bake sale or something instead? Have a lemonade stand?” He questioned the man under his care with a fond grin forming.

“Now where’s the fun in that? Also, I want to kill a room full of witnesses at once on a dramatic gameshow, not start a cult. I’m not killing people with food to make a point.” Ed was not going to go down that road, cult leaders were so clichè and he was better than that. “It worked out, it’s done.”

Oswald still had at least one question left though. “Ed, why did Ms. Sparkle-Britches get shocked too? I thought the mats were supposed to be a safety measure.”

Ed grinned at his own brilliance again, opening his eyes carefully to get a small look at Oswald. “I made her costume.” He chuckled, glad sewing was apart of his skillset. “I put aluminum rods in her corset, and then cut tears into her mat, hollowed it somewhat and put more aluminum in the bottom of that. I made her into a lightning rod.” He snickered at the thought, wishing he had been able to see it. Unfortunately, he was gone by then.

 

It took two days but Ed eventually began to bounce back, walking around on his own without issue, not feeling so sick or off. His head would hurt from time to time, but Oswald blamed it on the electrocution, which… Ed wasn’t so sure he could believe that. He got his energy back, his muscles no longer giving him as much pain when they moved. And two days from then it was like nothing happened, other than the healing scars on Ed’s calves and shoulders, where he’d burnt himself from contact points with the electric chair. 

Oswald used Ed’s stolen funds to recycle into his organization again. It was more than enough to get him going, it was an amount he could make multiply in weeks with the right planning. And with a newly funded team behind him, taking what he wanted became so much easier. With the work Oswald put in, and the inability to stop, it took a week from the Riddler’s Adams Street massacre for him to hobble with a less pronounced limp. He had much to do, but both of the Eds managed to work together in the rebuilding of his empire. For him they managed to establish a balance. An equilibrium.

At least, for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this maybe a month ago, just as a filler for fun.  
> And meant to post it as a one chapter work, buuuuut... it was 27 pages, so decided to split it up into two and post it at once.  
> Probably makes it a little more approachable in reading, who knows. Haha
> 
> Come visit me at strewnlimbs.tumblr.com


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